


Only

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Assumptions, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Nygmobblepot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Oswald and Edward, it's hard to tell what's real and what's a happy delusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd warning. I may add another chapter to this, from Edward's perspective... Inspired by the song 'Only' by Nine Inch Nails.
> 
> Comments compel writers to write! Hope you enjoy.

The thrusting was without pattern, erratic, and almost violent. Sometimes slow and crushing, sometimes quick and blinding, as if the man taking him from behind couldn't quite decide what torture he would like to inflict upon Oswald at any given moment. Knelt over the edge of the opulent bed of what was once Falcone Manor, bad leg jammed haphazardly up on the wooden frame at the foot, erection crushed against expensive 800 thread count sheets, he felt like a whore. Tears sat at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over with each voracious slap of skin against skin. 

This was exactly what Oswald needed, at the exact right time.

A large hand cupped his cheek with a gentleness that betrayed the pace of their sex. A smile rose the corners of his lips, eyes slipping shut. An errant tear slinked down his right cheek as he pushed it up into the tender palm like a cat craving attention. 

“Don’t cry.” A concerned request.

“Don’t talk.” A scathing command issued from swollen lips. 

The little chuckle rewarded to his demand sent an electric pulse through Oswald’s naked back, creeping through his hips to his groin, causing a soft moan to drop from his lips. The hand was removed itself from his cheek and dropped back to his thin hips, and for a strange moment all the black-haired man could think about was how wholly those fingers engulfed his midsection. Powerful fingers, connected to hands that could inflict the most deliciously meticulous damage, leading to arms that were deceptively strong, and a body as flawless and beautiful as the first snowfall over Gotham.

He was everything that Oswald needed.

Restrained gasps and gentle moans were the only noise to be heard above the pounding and grinding of flesh. Pleasure like sweet marmalade coated his every nerve, spiked with a pain as thick and toxic as molten mercury. 

Tears began to run unhindered down the side of his nose, darkening the sheets below his face. He didn’t quite understand why the tears came; it certainly wasn’t to be blamed on the pain of being fucked with minimal preparation and saliva as lubrication. Physical pain was ever-present in Oswald’s life, and he greeted it as an old companion. 

If there was some emotional issue, the mobster wanted nothing more than to get it out and let it die. It was a good thing, perhaps, that the only thoughts he could manage were desires for release, for more, for him. He could never admit out loud how much he needed him. There would be no whispers of I love you from Oswald, no public declarations of possession. He only hoped that the surrender of his body was enough to convince him to stay, that the venom in his words were met with that endearing smile and an understanding that Oswald could never hurt him the way he could so easily hurt others. 

Edward was all he needed, in that moment and all others. 

Waves of crackling pleasure came to a violent crescendo. The scientist pressed his torso to Oswald’s back, the angle of his thrusts changing just enough to send the smaller man’s muscles seizing up as his release struck, trapped cock pressing into the bed one last time. Buried inside him, skin flush against skin, Edward reached his own end, coating Oswald’s insides, moaning out the other man’s name with unrestrained passion.

Edward terrified Oswald.

He prided himself in deception, in his ability to pander to the most basic idea of what people thought he was. Manipulative, a sociopath, a pathetic, sniveling monster, a cripple with megalomaniac tendencies, a man who wasn’t hugged enough as a child and who took it out on those around him. Misdirection, underhanded dealings, turn-coating, and a penchant for unyielding violence were weapons in his arsenal. 

But Oswald was completely disarmed by Edward.

The scientist saw through every lie he could craft, but provided no admonishment for them, attributing it to being his nature. Betrayal wasn't even a thought in Oswald's mind. His only attempt at violence towards the other man was cut short by a hand and a verbal jolt to reality. Reality. What a novel concept, Oswald thought with a chuckle. 

What was real in his life?

Power?

Notoriety?

Fear?

Edward?

… Edward?

Oswald felt cold and empty. He didn’t feel it when the scientist pulled away, but the sensation left behind was not one he found himself enjoying. He should have stayed, inside and on top of Oswald, cloaking him from the world that had taken everything he held dear. Fisting his hands in the bedsheets, the small man crawled more fully on to the bed, bad leg smacking into the hard wooden footboard. With a grimace, the birdlike man began to bury himself in the thick blankets and allowed his mind to wander.

He had thought many times that he had been imagining Edward was real, and was his. That he had constructed the man’s personality from composites of everyone who had ever shown him kindness or inspired him, and sprinkled it over with a dash of everything he found attractive physically. Maybe the person who was just fucking him was just some random man who had gotten his kicks and had now left. Someone that Oswald was just imagining to be the man he… loved? Could one love the idea of a perfect man? 

Edward was perfect, to him. 

Too perfect.

Too perfect to be real.

Oswald had never been so lucky as to find such companionship that was without many ulterior motives. And now, when he needed someone more then anything, Edward was there. He had saved him from his injuries, from himself, all without the judgment and suspicion Oswald had come to expect from humankind. He had come to fill the wound in his heart left by his mother’s murder, and had done so with a grace that mirrored hers.

Even now, the thought of his mother sent a pang of savage ache crawling into his heart. He couldn’t remember her with the fondness she deserved because her death was on his hands. She had always told him to be a good boy, not to put himself in the path of trouble, but his ambition was far greater than his common sense. Even in death, though, she had seen no wrong in him. Mother had always thought nothing but good about him, even though he was far from it.

Just as tears began to creep back down his cheeks, Oswald felt himself being lifted carefully by fascinating hands. He shifted a little, arms snaking around the man’s shoulders. Edward’s skin was still flushed and unbelievably warm, compelling the smaller man to press his face into the space between the base his his neck and chin. 

“Why did you leave?” Oswald mumbled to him, voice laden with irritation.

“I told you I was going to draw a bath, silly.” The ever gentle, chuckled response.

“I don’t remember.” 

“It’s okay. I just know you don’t like to be a dirty bird, especially not when we’re about to go to bed…” Edward was smiling. Oswald could feel it.

The tiny mobster said nothing in response, mind still wandering, eyelids heavy with the promise of a warm bath and sleep. Edward was fine with the silence, and when he sank into the bath he continued to hold Oswald, cradling him, washing him. He even began to sing to him, voice like honeyed wine warming his insides. 

He was too perfect to be real.

“... What?” Edward asked. 

Oswald looked up, searching his face in confusion. Had he said that out loud? Does a delusion cease to be when you acknowledge it out loud? If Edward knew what he was thinking, would he go away, leaving him empty and alone again? His mind raced for a moment before he simply laid his head back down. Even if he was imagined, the product of a mind put through one too many traumas, Oswald couldn’t bear to lose him.

“Nothing, Eddie.” Oswald assured him.

“Okay.” Edward asked no further questions.


End file.
